Mind Games

Welcome aboard Fortune’s Light, the largest of the Pharaoh
Consortium’s fleet of luxury gaming ships. We offer visitors across the galaxy
a vast selection of games: Tanda, Spheres, Tridice, and other pursuits are all
available in over 120 lavish gaming chambers. Safe rooms and privacy-shrouded
gaming tables are also available. Our main casino offers dozens of games at
every level of skill and any amount one wishes to wager. Attentive android
servers will take care of every request. Weapons are strictly prohibited;
please be ready to submit to security transer search upon docking. Enjoy your
stay, and good luck!

* * *

Foxe spotted the Narixian walking through the
crowd of eager gamblers in the casino, and for a moment every thought of a
routine runaway daughter mission dissolved from his mind.

Canos
Station, nine months ago: The Rostumi
woman dying on the deck outside the Narixian’s ship. Foxe firing his FDS
rifle into the ship, his heart pounding with fury. The D-projectiles exploding
in shattering microblasts against the hull. The hatch slamming in his face.

Why did you let me die? It was the question she asked in his dreams. The question he
heard almost every night as soon as he closed his eyes.

His sleep was haunted by dead people.

The gray-skinned Narixian had an elongated
head and thin, reedlike arms and legs. His back was rigid as his black eyes
scanned the room. He had to see Foxe—tall for a human, slender and wiry, with
short brown hair and hard gray eyes, his most expensive nearsilk shirt and
jacket—but he gave no evidence of recognition.

The Narixian took his seat at the game table.
Two beings stood behind him: An Inkorrian female with ebony skin, and a bony
male Rann-dishii. The woman had no hair and a thin, wiry build; the Rann-dishii
had five eyes on twitching stalks that roamed the room like restless snakes. He
wore a thick comsol bracelet on one of his wrists, like the Narixian and almost
every other being in the casino—except for the Inkorrian woman.

Two of the Rann-dishii’s eyestalks targeted
an arched entryway, and Foxe spotted the target of his assignment: Devion
Borrlill.

Human female. Young. She wore a short black
shimmerdress with luminous tendrils of liquid crystal that swirled like a
churning nebula. A smile of eager anticipation stretched across her face.

Devion slid a chip into the casino’s credit
reader and pushed aside a lock of her silky black hair to plug a silvery input
cable into a port behind her left ear. Then she leaned forward, impatient to begin.

Her android, stocky and solid with yellow
biocrystal eyes, stood behind her chair. A human male stood next to her with
one hand on her bare shoulder.

The game was a variation of the ancient earth
game Go, projected in a holographic 3-D cube instead of a flat game board.
Their brains linked directly to the cube, Devion and the Narixian maneuvered a
dazzling array of bright icons, attempting to stake out their own territory
while surrounding the other’s position to remove the opponent’s pieces. Foxe
watched as icons appeared, shifted position, changed color, and vanished.
Numbers flashed in the air by the side of the game board to indicate the
changing score.

Devion lost the game, forfeiting 17,000 cees.
She had the lead up until the last few minutes, then apparently grew
overwhelmed and let the Narinian take the final point. He didn’t look satisfied
with his victory. He stared at Devion, his neck rigid, as she unhooked the
cable from her skull port and rubbed her eyes.

Time to start working, Foxe thought. He pushed past a tall Udorian, avoiding his
shoulder spikes, and intercepted Devion as her friend led her from the table,
the android trailing them.

“We need to talk,” Foxe said.

She blinked as if waking from a restless
dream. “Who are . . .”

“My name’s Foxe. Your parents sent me.” Not
exactly true, but she’d probably respond a little more favorably to a family
messenger than an agent from Aligned Research and Intelligence.

She shook her head. “Not going back.”

“We still need to talk.”

“Name of K,” she muttered—a curse. “All
right. My suite.”

The boyfriend clutched her arm possessively.
“Dev, is that a good—”

“Not now, Manning. I’ve got Elmo, and I’m
tired. I keep losing!” She shook her arm free and shoved past Foxe. The guy
glared and followed her, the android close behind.

Foxe looked back. The Narixian and his party
were gone.

* * *

Foxe knew from the mission profile that
Devion was the daughter of a prominent ambassador in the Anskarii system.
According to the profile, her mother Litarr Borrlill had been training her for
a role in the Diplomatic Ministry since birth, teaching the child protocol,
manners and rules every day of her life.

Foxe couldn’t blame her for running away.
Devion had disappeared sixteen days ago. Litarr’s people had hushed the matter
up in her home system. She didn’t want the Crown Council to think she couldn’t
keep track of her own daughter—or more importantly, the diplomatic codes and
other data in Devion’s brainware implants. But Anskarr was a member of the
Aligned Worlds, and Littar was able to quietly invoke her right under the AW
Charter to enlist Aligned Research and Intelligence—the AW intelligence
agency—in tracking her down.

Foxe got the assignment.

Devion wasn’t accessing her family’s credit,
and her escort android had stopped transmitting its tracking code, but ARI had
supplied him with a file of acquaintances. One new “friend” had connections
with a half dozen shadowy groups—terrorists, nark cartels, clone slavers. His
name—Manning Lilek—had popped up on the transit databases, which noted that he
was traveling with a young woman and an andy. Foxe had just missed them at
Baldur Station but uncovered their reservations for the Fortune’s Light.

It was a routine job, until the Narixian
showed up.

Devion’s suite had luxurious formshifting
sofas, a basket of exotic fruit on a floating AG table, living plasma
sculptures, and a spectacular viewscreen feed of the Jackson Nebula that filled
one entire wall. Golden waves of cosmic dust mixed with silvery trails of dying
comets, illuminated by the protostar that the Pharaoh Consortium orbited from
half a light-year away.

Foxe took a position where he could keep an
eye on both doors: the passageway, and the bedroom. Devion slumped on one of
the sofas, exhausted by her game. Manning brought her a tall bubbling drink.
The android stood like a statue.

“Let’s talk,” Foxe said.

“You’ve got three minutes,” Manning snapped.
“Then you need to—”

“Shut up. Devion, why’d you disappear?”

“Hey, wait a—”

“Manning, shut up.” She groaned. “What am I
supposed to say? ‘You wouldn’t understand. And then you say what? ‘Try me?’ And
then I say . . .”

“You fell in love with a handsome
smuggler—not him, obviously.” He shot a scornful look at Manning. “Or you hit
your head and lost your memory, that’s always good, at least on the vids. Or
you’re perfecting your formula to break the bank on every gaming ship in the
galaxy, although the way you’ve been playing? I’d say you still have some work
to do.” He gave her a friendly smile—one he’d practiced on other missions. “Any
of those sound good? I’ve got more.”

She laughed. “All of them.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“Oh, it was all his fault.” She winked at
Manning. “Met him a couple months ago at a Bandi club. He does some kind of AI
programming. Or something. I’m not really sure. Does it matter?”

Manning wanted to object. Then he smiled.
“Okay. How much do you want? To get off the Light and leave us alone?”

He couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not with the
Narixian here. “I’ll take ten thousand cees not to tell your parents where you
are. But I’m going to stay here and keep an eye on you. You’re not safe here.”

“What the K? I don’t need a spy.” She stood
up. “Forget the drink. Mann, get rid of him.”

She crossed toward the bedroom door, her feet
unsteady, and paused at the beverage center for some water. “Lock,” she
muttered as the door whispered shut behind her.

Foxe and Manning stared at each other like
fencers waiting for an opening.

“You’re working for the Narixian, aren’t
you?” Foxe asked. “What’s his game?”

“Get out.” He stepped forward. Foxe let him close in. Manning
raised his arms, fists clenched, his sleeves falling back. Foxe spotted a thin
silver band around one wrist, with a jewel that glowed like fire. It looked
familiar.

Manning’s fist lashed out. Foxe blocked it
and hit him in the chest. Manning staggered back with a grunt, and tripped. He
hit the floor, coughing. “Elmo!” he barked, his voice raw and angry. “Flash
five!”

Foxe turned. The andy launched itself
forward, arms extended.

He hated androids. It was irrational—they
were machines, programmed for a function just like the beverage dispenser in
the corner—but he’d fought them often enough to despise their mindless
determination. He saved his contempt for the cowards who used them because they
didn’t want to do their own dirty work.

Fighting andys had taught him some tricks,
though. Foxe dropped his head as Elmo lunged at him, and jerked the andy’s leg
out from under its torso. It tumbled backward to the carpet, but it swept its
other leg at Foxe’s feet and Foxe slammed to the floor as well.

Red waves of pain clouded his eyes. Elmo spun
and grabbed Foxe’s neck, squeezing its high-powered fingers around a nerve
cluster. Foxe bit his lip and jabbed at the andy’s chest. Most security
androids had their central processors and power units buried deep in their
armored torso, but a hard, well-placed punch could temporarily—

It worked. The andy’s body seized up, and
Foxe rolled away, ignoring the aftershocks of pain. He pushed off the floor and
grabbed Manning, wrapping his arms around him in a tight, painful hug. Manning
squirmed but Foxe held on, pulling him around to block the android. “Shut it
down,” he ordered. “Now!”

“What the K?” It was Devion, shouting from
the doorway. “Elmo, stop! Bravo four!”

But Elmo rose to its feet again and moved
toward Foxe, ignoring Devion’s command.

Manning grabbed her wrist, and Foxe got ready
to hit him again. Then Manning backed away, clenching his fists in frustration.
“Fine.” He turned, his face red, and looked at Foxe as if searching for a
target. Foxe expected another punch, but Manning jabbed a finger at the door.
“Come on.”

Foxe shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I can call security. They’ll throw you out.”

He ignored Manning. “I said I won’t contact
your family. Fine, but I have to keep you in my sight. That’s the deal.”

She crossed her arms. “Not going home.”

“Fine with me.”

Manning’s voice shook. “Dev, this guy is—”

“Manning, just shut up and leave!” She
actually stamped her foot on the carpet. Manning tried to think of something to
say, to do. Foxe said nothing.

Manning couldn’t let his anger and his pride
take over. The Narixian’s punishment would be terrifying. Finally he swallowed
and forced himself to walk to the door. “This isn’t over,” he told Foxe, and
left.

“Name of K.” Devion looked exhausted. “Okay,
you stay. I don’t know why I should listen to you, but . . ..” She looked at
Elmo and wiped her eyes. “You stay out here. And don’t try to take me home.”

“No problem.”

“And I’ll claw your eyes out if you touch
me.”

He nodded. “Deal.”

* * *

Foxe opened his eyes. Devion sat in front of
the table, gobbling a rich pastry, nodding her head to the beat of music from
the walls. Foxe sat up.

He’d been meditating, using the breathing
rhythm some Bekkan monks had taught him years ago. Not fully asleep, just
recharging.

She wore a thin blue robe, wrapped tight
around her body and fastened high at the neck. “There’s coffee and stuff,” she
said. She sipped some thick sweet danju-tea.

He stood and stretched. “We need to talk.”

She frowned. “Music off.” In the silence Foxe
sat down at the table.

“Tell me about the Narixian,” he said.

“Emchi-Ar?” She shrugged. “That’s his name.
Manning knows him from somewhere. We play the game. We don’t talk much.”

“The game was Manning’s idea?”

“I wanted to play Spheres. And Bacco. I’ve
played this one before, and Mann showed me some tricks, but it’s hard. I
thought I was good, too, but . . .” She shook her head. “I lost ten thousand
cees the first night, and I wanted to quit, but it was Manning’s money and he
made me go back and keep playing. Four nights now.” She glanced at Elmo. “What
do you care? I thought you were just my mother’s errand drone.”

You thought you were the center
of the galaxy. “I know this Narixian. He’s
dangerous.”

“He’s a menace at the game table. Sometimes I
don’t think he’s really trying to win. Like he’s just trying to drag the game
out.”

She sat back and lifted her arms above her
head, stretching her body like a Kairean wingcat. She was spoiled and immature,
but still a woman in a tight, silky robe. Foxe forced himself to look at the
nebula in the viewscreen.

Devion stood up. “I’m going to take a
refresher. Then—” She smiled like an excited child. “We can go out and find a
game.”

Games. “Whatever you want.”

* * *

Devion played a game called Spheres all
afternoon, betting on which symbols would line up within a series of spinning
concentric holographic globes. She stood between a crimson-feathered Vaar clan
leader and a pair of symbiotic Plix. Foxe watched her from a balcony, his eyes
on the crowd.

Security androids roamed the main casino,
some obvious, some inconspicuous. Andy servers offered drinks, snacks, Iradian
cigars, and rare Katari spices to inhale. Gamblers won and lost, laughing or
groaning or gesticulating wildly. A jaxx-music band played soft Skandelian
hymns, and a handful of couples swayed together to the music.

Foxe noted the exits, possible lines of fire,
and potential troublemakers, all while trying to decide whether to confront the
Narixian directly or wait for him to make a move. When he spotted the Inkorrian
woman making her way toward him he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or
angry.

“Spheres is a fool’s game,” she muttered to
Foxe as the large Sphere whirled faster and faster. “The odds are ridiculous.”
She wore a simple blue shipsuit with short sleeves that made her long arms seem
like dangling pythons.

“She’s just a kid playing games,” Foxe said.
“What’s your game?”

“I ran some gaming systems on another Pharaoh
ship until Emchi-Ar bought out my indenture bond.”

It clicked. The Narixian would need someone
who knew how the gambling systems worked.

“I am Ranlae Kuartz. Kuartz of the Outer
Highlands. He said you should know my name.”

“Emchi-Ar doesn’t need to harm the girl. But
she has to win. Tell her to focus her mind on the game and beat him. Then he’ll
leave.”

Foxe watched as Devion keyed in a bet. The
Plix symbiots murmured their surprise the amount of her wager. “Why did he send
you?”

“Since he can’t touch Devion Bor-Lill, he has
another threat.” She held her slender arm out: Like Manning, she wore a thin
silver band that held a red jewel, glistening like flame. The gleaming metal
dug into her dark skin. “There’s a bio-toxin inside. If you interfere with the
game, he will kill me.”

Foxe looked at the band. He’d seen one just
like it on the arm of the Rostumi woman the Narixian had murdered. “Does your
Rann-dishii partner have one too?”

She nodded solemnly. “But he trusts Jor to
enforce his commands. All one of them has to do is tap a comsol and it jets
into my bloodstream. And I’ll be dead in seconds.”

Foxe shrugged. “Why does he think I care what
happens to you?”

“He says you almost died trying to save a
woman on Canos Station last year. A woman not worth saving.”

Foxe gripped the rail. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

“He’s betting my life you haven’t.”

Down on the gaming floor the Sphere ground to
a halt. Devion jumped up and down. She’d won.

“Then he made a bad bet.” Foxe turned and
walked away.

* * *

“Why do you keep losing?” Foxe asked.

They sat in a dark café near the main casino.
Glowing golden fish swam between strands of bioluminescent seaweed in tanks
hovering overhead. A group of Ustalli played Tanda at a nearby table. Foxe
drank Takka juice; the girl kept one hand on her glass of Rhysian wine.

“Do you think I like it?” she snapped. “I’m
fifth percentile intelligence in my family. I can beat you at Holdem, Starplex,
even ancient chess. But that game—It’s like something gets in my way every time
I get ahead. It’s driving me into psych-overload.”

“You could access your family’s credit on a
Q-connection, no questions asked. Are you afraid of him?”

“Mann?” She laughed. “You saw what he’s
like.”

“Then why not walk away?”

“I don’t . . .” She stopped, sipped some
wine, and stared at the fish. “It’s like a song I can’t get out of my head. All
the time.I dreamed about it all
last night. Every play, every mistake. I hate it. But I just don’t want to
stop.”

Something about the game . . . a hook. Maybe
something Manning had planted while she slept? “What kind of brainware do you
have?”

“I don’t know. I’m in training for the
Diplomatic Corps. Like mom.” She made a face. “So I guess I’ve got basic access
codes, encryption keys. Contact protocols. Last year I downloaded a pleasure
enhancement from the priestesses of Helgira.” She grinned. “That was a wave.
Until my mother found out. Bitch.” She gulped her wine. “Won’t even leave me
alone in my own brain. That’s why I had to—”

“You deleted it?”

“She had it erased. I can’t alter my own
brainware. They have to go inside with a digital resource scanner and—”

Hellcore. “So you can’t modify the brainware yourself?”

“I can download new programs and
applications. Taking anything out is a lot harder. You have to be senior level
before they let you do that.” She looked surprised. “I mean, it’s encrypted and
locked, isn’t that enough?”

“I’ve dealt with this Narixian before.” He
leaned toward her. “He’s an information broker—genetics, financial codes,
military programming. He steals and sells data to the highest bidder, and he
doesn’t play by any rules or laws. He’d rip your implants out of your brain if
he could.”

She stared at Foxe, and for the first time
she looked frightened.

“But if he wanted to do that, he wouldn’t
have brought you here. He wants you to play the game. That means
something—maybe he can slip the raw data out of your brainware past whatever
security blocks your people installed, in the rush of winning a challenging
game. Maybe that’s why you keep losing.”

“You don’t have to remind me about that.” Her
fear turned to anger.

“You should leave. Get off this ship.” It
meant possibly losing the Narixian. Again. But Devion didn’t have any part in
his quest for vengeance.

She pushed her wine away. “K’s name, who are
you?”

“Just a freelance.”

She closed her eyes. After a moment she shook
her head. “I just—I have to do it. Or else I’m just playing runaway. Waiting
for my mother to come get me back. No. I’m staying.”

He could force her back to his Cat and take
her off Fortune’s Light. Protecting the data in her brain was what ARI
would want.

But this was his best chance to get the
Narixian. If she was willing to take it . . . He didn’t like it, but he was
willing to use her. “You’re an adult.” He finished his Takka juice. “Let’s get
back to your suite.”

* * *

The massive ship had been designed for easy
access between the gaming halls and the luxury suites. Foxe kept close to
Devion as they rode the tubes. Rounding a curve in the corridor they saw
Manning leaning against the bulkhead. His eyelids drooped as if he hadn’t
slept. The Rann-dishii stood behind him, his eyestalks watching every
direction.

“Emchi-Ar sent me with a message,” Manning
said, unhappy. “He sent Jor to make sure I delivered it.” He glared at the
Rann-dishii.

Jor’s bony shoulders twitched like an
imitation of a shrug. “We both serve his wishes.”

Manning’s eyes shot wide open in pain and
surprise. He twisted to stare at Jor, and Foxe saw one of the Rann-dishii’s
long fingers pressing a stud on the comsol bracelet around his wrist. Manning’s
face flushed a deep red. He lurched toward Jor, gasping as if he couldn’t
breathe. Then his legs folded up beneath him and he crashed to the carpet.

Devion’s legs shook. “M-manning?”

Foxe yanked Manning’s sleeve up and found the
silvery band around his arm.The
glowing red jewel was dark.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” For a moment Foxe
thought Devion might collapse on the carpet next to him. But she stood
straight, took a deep breath, and stared at his face as if trying to memorize
something important in it.

Foxe opened Manning’s hand. His fingers
clutched a short strip of paper. The game continues. He showed it to
Devion.

Jor turned to leave. “We will meet at the
table.”

“Yeah. We will.” Devion tossed the paper to
the floor as the Rann-dishii left.

“We should get out of here right now.” Foxe
had to make the offer again.

She shook her head, her shoulders shaking.
“I’ve got to play the game again. One more time.”

He wasn’t sure if this was some sort of
programming, or a simple desire for vengeance. But the game was her only chance
to challenge the Narixian and win, one way or another.

“Do you need a drink?”

She shuddered, then wrapped her arms around
her body as if she needed to literally hold her fear inside. “I guess I’d
better get ready.”

Foxe nodded. “Tonight you’ve got to win.”

* * *

Canos Station, nine months before

Foxe stalked down the passageway, firing his
FDS-60 at anything that moved. An android stepped into the open, and Foxe
triggered a burst of explosive bullets into his chest. Its arms stiffened, and
it dropped to the deck.

Foxe pressed his back against the bulkhead
and looked around just in time to see a big Udorian with a pulser lean out from
a cabin. Of course—sacrifice the androids as a distraction. The pulser’s beam
seared the air, but it missed him by a few centimeters. His blast blew the
Udorian’s wide face to shreds.

“Human!” The Narixian’s voice blared through
the shipwide comm, cutting through the echoes of the explosions around him.
“Make this end.” A pause. “The female is on the ramp. The female will die in .
. .” Another pause. “Sixty seconds. Unless you leave and remove her with you.”
Pause.“The game is over. For
now.”

His right leg burned from a plasma beam that
had singed him on the entry ramp to the Narixian’s ship. Trap? Maybe. But the
Narixian couldn’t waste too much time defending himself before station security
showed up. He could have decided that getting rid of Fox was his best bet.

Or his best chance to kill both Foxe and the
Rostumi woman?

Counting down the seconds in his mind, Foxe
raced down the passageway back to the main hatch. The Rostumi woman waited
about five meters down the ramp. An android held one of her arms in a tight
grip.

Her thick stalks of hair were streaked with
clotted blood. She was young for a Rostumi, only eighty standard years old.
Almost a child, she’d risked everything she had to help Foxe in exchange for a
promise of protection.

The android stood like a statue, waiting for
commands. Foxe lifted the barrel of his FDS and shot the android through the
face. The explosive bullet exploded inside its skull casing, spewing
nanoprocessors and circulation fluid from is head unit in every direction.

Foxe skidded down the ramp. “Are you all
right?”

“You said you’d protect me.” She tried to
spit at him but her mouth couldn’t summon the moisture. “Why didn’t you—”

“I’m sorry.” It meant nothing, but it was all
he could say.

She pointed a bony finger past him. He swung
his head back toward the hatch.

The Narixian stood in the hatchway, tall and
calm. “We are finished here.”

The woman screamed. Her fingers curled into a
fist, and she clawed at a slim silver band with a bright red jewel locked
around her wrist as she toppled backward on the ramp, grunting and cursing, her
body shuddering and jerking as if a sudden deadly seizure was gripping her. She
pounded the deck with one weak fist, moaning in frustration, and then her
fingers opened and twitched. Just once. Then her arm dropped to the deck, and
her chest stopped heaving. Dead.

Foxe opened up with the FDS rifle, but the
Narixian had jumped back around the edge of the hatch. A pulser weapon blasted
away at him from inside the ship.

Foxe pulled back, his finger on the firing
stud, his heart steady and slow. But the Narixian’s crew forced the hatch
securely into place. The microblasts from his demolition slugs wouldn’t
penetrate the hull or stop them from leaving.

Alarms began blaring. Decompression in thirty
seconds. The Narixian was leaving.

He knelt next to the woman. Her wide eyes
glared up at him in silent accusation.

The silver band—some kind of toxin, injected
directly into her veins? Foxe should have been ready for a trick. He’d been too
willing to escape, too eager to accept any excuse to get out of this alive . .
.

“I’m sorry.” Too late now. But it had to be
enough. Twenty seconds. The station hatch was starting its inexorable slide
into place, cutting him off if he didn’t move now.

He’d retrieved the dataclip the Narixian had
stolen. So the mission was a success …

Hellcore. Foxe limped away with one last
glance over his shoulder at the Narixian’s ship.

Not finished, he promised. Not a chance.

***

They stopped at Foxe’s small stateroom on
their way to the main casino. Foxe found a fresh shirt and changed in the
bathroom while Devion waited.

“Thanks.” He grabbed up a multigamer control
from his pack and dropped it into the same pocket. “We’re ready.”

She stood up, trembling. “I don’t think I can
do this anymore.”

“Then I’ll take you home. Right now.”

“No! No, for the love of K—”

“So let’s go. You’ll do fine.”

* * *

More beings than usual crowded the main
casino that evening. Devion held Foxe’s hand with tight fingers as they walked
through the arched entry. Foxe wished he could reassure her that nothing would
happen, but every time he felt tempted he remembered the Rostumi woman glaring
at him as she died. No promises.

Devion wore her black shimmerdress. Her
breathing was ragged and shallow.“A little scared.”

“Me too.” He smiled at her. “If you’re not
scared, you’re not alive. Use it. Just play your game. Let me do my job.”

“What if I—” She stopped.

The Narixian had arrived. Jor walked at his
right side, with Ranlae on the left. She avoided his eyes.

Devion sank into her chair, rubbed her eyes,
and inserted her credit chip. The holographic game board sprang up; discs
popped into untouchable existence. Foxe could hear clicking and beeps around
him as spectators finished placing their side bets on the outcome.

Foxe patted her shoulder. “Knock him dead.”

She forced a grin, and the effort seemed to
bring back a fraction of her confidence. “Okay.”

“Let us begin.” The Narixian plugged in his
neural cable.

The game might last an hour or two, or Devion
could choke and lose in ten minutes. Foxe had a plan, but he needed to act
while the Narixian’s attention was occupied.

He walked around the table as discs began
dancing in the air. “We need to talk.”

“For what purpose?” Jor asked.

“There’s something you should know about your
boss.” He pointed toward an empty game table equipped with a privacy shroud.
“Let’s sit down.”

Anyone who worked the Narixian for any length
of time had good reason to be wary. Jor’s paranoia would do Foxe’s job for
him—he hoped. Foxe walked toward the table without looking back.

The Rann-dishii clutched Ranlae’s arm and
pulled her to the table, veering around a half-naked android server.

“Good.” Foxe pressed a pad. The privacy
shroud went up, blurring the room around the table. No one outside would be
able to see or hear them through the distortion field.

Jor perched on the edge of a chair. Foxe saw
the comsol on his left arm, with the silver band above it near his lower elbow.
The Rann-dishii held Ranlae’s wrist in a tight grip with his right hand. “What
do you have to say?”

“Your boss is going to be interested in
this.” He drew the shaver from his jacket.

“It’s more than that.” Foxe pulled out the
multigamer control and quickly hooked it into a slot on the shaver’s side. “Now
watch carefully—”

He pressed the shaver’s power switch. A thin
sliver of energy from the head of the shaver shot into the Rann-dishii’s
forehead.

Jor was dead before his head hit the table.
Two of his eyestalks jumped up as the others sagged, and then they dropped onto
his skull, twitching for a moment before they crumpled over his skull.

Foxe didn’t enjoy killing cold. But Jor had
done the same to Manning. And he’d worked for the Narixian, who had executed to
the Rostumi like a bug. This was the game they were playing now.

“The Narixian can trigger the poison—anyone
else?” Foxe asked.

Ranlae shook her head. “Just—just Emchi-Ar.
There’s no one else.”

“Does he have anyone else here working for
him?”

“Just androids. He had that human—Manning? He
reprogrammed two androids here. But there are three more waiting on his ship.”

Grim relief eased his nerves a little. Maybe
good help was harder to hire after Canos Station. “Was Jor armed? Check him.”

Ranlae grimaced, but then she overcame her
nerves and went through the Rann-dishii”s sleeves and pockets. She came up with
a small sliverbeam disguised as a laz-pen, hardly more powerful than his
amplified shaver.

“Keep it,” he told her. “Find a sensorrium,
one with security shields, and stay inside as long as you can.”

Ranlae stared at him. “Why—”

“Because once there was another woman and I
couldn’t save her. Go!”

She jumped up. Foxed deactivated the privacy
shroud.

An andy server offered him a drink. He looked
for Devion. The game space was a large fractal quilt of multihued shapes. Devion’s
eyes blazed and one edge of the holographic image suddenly erupted with color.
One of the spectators gave a shriek of pleasure, and the game froze. Devion had
won.

Curses, laughter, and various forms of
scattered applause greeted her victory as he approached Devion’s seat. She
smiled with the first genuine pleasure Foxe had seen in her face.

“I won,” she murmured as Foxe knelt beside
her. “But—something happened. Like you said. He got inside—just for a second .
. ..”

Foxe looked across the table. The Narixian’s
head rocked back and forth as his dark eyes cleared, and without a word he
detached the cable from his skull, his slim fingers in a hurry.

Foxe pressed an ID key into her hand. “My
ship is section four, dock 78,” he whispered into her ear. “If I’m not there in
one hour it’s all yours. Take it and go.” He hesitated. “You did good.” He
kissed her cheek.

The Narixian was on his feet, twisting his
head in search of his crew.

“They’re gone,” Foxe said.

“What did you . . .” The Narixian jabbed a
stud on his comsol. Trying to summon Ranlae and Jor—or kill them? Foxe hoped
she’d found a protected room fast.

Dropping his arm, the Narixian turned and
scurried through the arched doorway. He needed to download the data he’d gotten
from Devion as soon as possible. A secure location—probably his ship.

Foxe followed, his heart pumping fast, one
hand on the modified shaver in his vest. He could kill him now, out in the
hallway, and try fighting his way through Pharaoh’s security androids. But too
many people might get hurt.

The Narixian’s head swiveled around as he
strode down the hall. “I told you not to interfere.”

“You told me the woman on Canos Station would
be safe.”

“She was finished. And I want to be finished
with you.” One thin hand jammed into a pocket and Foxe tensed, expecting a
weapon. But the Narixian veered toward a door and shoved a credit chip into a
slot in the wall.

“Let’s end this,” the Narixian said. He
slipped through the doorway.

Trap? Probably. But Foxe had no choice, even if the fear hammering in his chest
urged him to run. He yanked the shaver from his jacket, fired a blind burst
through the doorway, and dove forward.

Lights flared and loud music blared in the
air. Foxe hit the soft maroon carpeting and rolled. He heard the Narixian shout
“Attack mode!” and a hard sharp boot kicked his ribs. Foxe swore in
red-streaked pain. Yeah, a trap.

In a glimpse Foxe recognized a small gaming
room, probably for private parties. A bank of jackball gaming machines lined one
wall. The Narixian was scuttling backward toward a thick pillar. Two androids
were converging on Foxe. A male model andy’s black suit was singed from his
fire; the female wore next to nothing.

These were the two andys Ranlae had warned
him about. Manning had reprogrammed them, just as he’d altered Elmo. They
weren’t security models, but they didn’t have to be. They just had to keep Foxe
pinned down long enough for the Narixian to kill him.

At least they weren’t equipped with pulsers
in their arms. Foxe dropped the shaver into his pocket as the male-shaped andy
charged him.

“Drink order?” it shouted over the crashing
music. Foxe kicked at its torso. ”Excuse me,” it said, and lunged forward
again. Foxe darted in to jab two knuckles into its chest. The server andy
wasn’t armored, and Foxe’s fingers hit its central processing unit. Its eyes
flashed.

“Service required,” it announced, its arms
twitching. “Shutting down for service . . .”

Then the female andy launched itself at him.
“I can offer you any refreshment you wish . . .”

A flare of pulser fire burst from around the
pillar, burning the betting chips on a nearby Tanda table. The Narixian had
hidden a weapon in here—smuggled a fully charged pulser past the transers. And
all Foxe had was the amplified shaver in his jacket. Hellcore.

Foxe grabbed the andy, clamping his arms
around its torso and lifting its lightweight frame from the floor. “Sir, this
is inappropriate,” the andy said, swarming in his arms. “Please cease this
behavior.”

Foxe lurched toward the pillar. The android
struggled like an angry child, but Foxe gritted his teeth and held on, ignoring
its stern warnings to behave as he marched forward.

Peering around the pillar, the Narixian fired
again. The plasma burned into the andy’s back and its arms flailed out of
control. “I must . . . summon . . . a manager,” it whispered. Foxe almost felt
sorry for it.

He caught a flutter of motion as the Narixian
scuttled away from the pillar, retreating toward the jackball machines. He
shoved the andy to the carpet and rushed to the pillar, breathing hard.

Any minute now the door would slide open and
someone would walk into the crossfire. He didn’t need any more dead people in
his dreams. Foxe reached for the shaver in his pocket. Unless he could get
close enough to the Narixian to rip its head off—

A sharp blow in his neck sent a wave of pain
through him. The female andy , staggering on its slender legs, stood behind
him, its dark synthetic flesh scorched. “Would you—like—a beverage?” She jabbed
her fingers toward his eyes.

Damn all androids. He spun and grabbed the andy’s arm as it tried to hit him again
and twisted it, using the force of its punch to pull it off balance. It toppled
forward and he rolled down onto the carpet with the andy on top. It hammered
its weak fists at his chest.

The Narixian skittered out from behind the
jackball machine, pulser in his fist. “Now we’re finished,” he hissed.

He fired his weapon, and the andy’s body
burned. Tendrils of plasma seared Foxe’s arms.

Foxe rolled to one side, holding the andy’s
smoldering body with one arm as he grabbed for the shaver-weapon in his jacket.
Come on, Foxe thought, a little closer . . .

The Narixian took one more step to be sure of
a killing shot. Foxe had to shove the andy away to raise his weapon, and the
Narixian leaned back as the android’s bare synthetic leg flailed in the air.

Foxe pressed the power switch as hard as he
could.

The thin beam drilled the Narixian’s face.
His dark eyes turned ice white. The pulser wavered in his hand. He stood frozen
in place for half a second, then dropped to the carpet like a falling leaf.

Foxe pulled himself up and staggered forward.

The Narixian groaned. “You’re . . . weak.”

“Yeah.” He took the pulser from the Narixian’s thin fingers.
“Weak.”

He used the pulser to blast the Narixian’s
head until he could see his cortical implants melting, then dropped the weapon
and turned away before he could get sick. Nothing could retrieve the
information from Devion now. ARI would be satisfied. And the girl was safe.

“Game over,” he whispered.

* * *

“You’re—what happened?” Devion gasped at
Foxe’s burns.

“Let’s get out of here.” He stumbled into the
cockpit and activated the NavBoard. Lights turned green. The yacht tilted to
one side, tossing Devion against a bulkhead. He sagged in his seat. “Where do
you want to go?”

“Is he . . .?”

“Dead.”

She stared at the viewscreen. “Not going
home.”

“Fine. Maybe . . . “ He blinked, his eyes
tired. “Two days to Kallnor. You can get passage anywhere. Or there’s an entire
island for gaming.”

Devion shook her head. “I don’t think—no more
games. For a while.”

Foxe tapped instructions to the pilot, sat
back, and closed his eyes. “No more games.”

###

BONUS QUESTION

I should have warned you there’d be a quiz.

Thanks for reading “Mind Games.” Hope you enjoyed it. Please
remember to tip your server. But before you go I have one question:

When the story was being critiqued at Windycon, one of the comments
I received was: “When Foxe kills the Rann-dishii, he stops being a hero.” I
think that meant only that Foxe’s willingness to gun down an enemy in cold
blood changes the perception we have of him up until that point of the story.
In some revisions I changed that scene so he traps Jor without killing him. But
I’ve put the killing back in because I want to show that Foxe can be pretty
ruthless when he has to be.

So, the question: Does this change your opinion of him? I did
tweak the scene a bit to suggest that Foxe doesn’t like “killing cold,” just to
make him a little more sympathetic, but if it really turns Foxe into an
antihero, or just a jerk—well, that doesn’t mean I’d necessarily change the
scene. But it would be good to know.

2 comments:

No, my cold, dark heart is just fine with offing the Rann-dishii (my personal failing - the angels weep for me). It made strategic sense for Foxe to do that, and it hopefully gave the indentured gamer a fighting chance. Emchi-Ar - King of the Expendable Staff. This is a fascinating world, one that seems pretty ok with collateral sacrifices (Manning, andys). If the andys ever unionize, they're going to want payback. Would love to see this live, on a Twilght Zone kind of show. If you're taking requests, I'd like to hear more about the Bekkan monks - they seem pretty cool. Great effort - fun ride.

Thanks! I did sort of want a parallel between Ranlae and the Rostumi, although that probably wouldn't be obvious until later. Does it matter that there's no backstory on the Rostumi? I cut that out in the flashback because it seemed like more exposition than I needed.

More on the Bekkan monks in Prodigal Prince, a few chapters down. Thanks again for the feedback. My comments may be up in the double digits now!